Zeal
by Lunamaria
Summary: "I'm Peter," he announced, striking his hand out widely, "Peter Pan." And she frowned. Her childhood was in serious danger.


Zeal by Lunamaria for Suki  
_in which Peter loves Wendy and Wendy loves Peter all over again_

**I.**

Some boys just had _all the nerve_, could be condescending and, you know–such boys. I asked my mother about that one day, why boys were the way they were; selfish but exciting and thrilling. They made me want to cry and giggle all at once. In her trilling laughter, she told me they were a part of growing up. Apparently the feet-dropped-from-under-you feeling was… natural? I didn't want to grow up if boys would do those things to me–give me sweaty, pulsating feelings that were no good at all. I didn't want to grow up, to depart from all the joys and innocence my childhood offered me. It was easy to tell myself I was different from those _other_ girls, the ones who blinked too much, looked up at suggestive angles and cared about their complexion and such. It was so easy to deceive myself, to believe that I would never have to leave my heavenly youth.

But Peter ruined it all.

**II.**

It was one day in Biology class that she first met Peter. It hadn't been of her initiative or of his–it was like somebody behind-the-scenes planned their meeting and plotted it all. And Wendy would rather it hadn't happened at all, the day her childhood ended. She was gathering up her notes with a relieved sigh when from behind her she glimpsed him. Innocently lifting her bag, and turning, her world changed. Not in the way that you would think; it wasn't instantaneous, or at least she didn't think it had been. Not at the time. He was shoving his own items into his backpack when he caught her staring at him.

Wendy flushed, understandably embarrassed. Here she had been, shamelessly staring at the most beautiful boy in the entire world and he caught her. All the jewels in the crown wouldn't have tempered her chagrin. She would have looked away had she not seen his eyes, so completely–hard as it was for her to admit–and gorgeously green. His grassy eyes held her there, his face a picture of delight then.

"I'm Peter," he announced, striking his hand out widely, "Peter Pan."

His hair was as beautiful as his eyes–so extreme and honest in color. It was as copper and wild as a flame, beautiful and gentle, but viscous in its' own right.

For several moments, she remained silent in her bewilderment.

"And you're–?" He prodded her lightly with his index finger, and Wendy awoke from her cloud.

"I'm…" What was that name again–Rachel, Anne? "Wendy. Wendy Darling."

And she frowned. Her childhood was in serious danger.

**III.**

It was a mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.

It hardly mattered that his easy, undulating laughter was the most beautiful sound in the world to me. Who cared that he was the most amazing… thrilling… lovely…! It was a mistake, and I knew it! Being together with Peter had been too easy, so simple, that I hadn't paid any attention to my fleeting childhood beyond his romantic words and dreams and ideas. Peter was a dreamer of sorts, a boy as I was a girl, who didn't want to grow up almost as dearly as I. He was so irrational in his love of youth, his frivolity–he was everything that made me uneasy; and yet he was, _we_, were easy.

The first kiss went by like nothing at all. One moment we were tumbling through the tall, yellow-green grass of early summer, the next his face was near mine and I acted. It was improper I know, to just pull him to me like–embrace him as if I wanted him–but it was as if some kind of summer magic had possessed me. Before I knew it, my eyes and his eyes were closed and we were falling back into the high grass giggling like children.

No, maybe it wasn't a mistake after all.

**IV.**

No summer was quite like that summer.

There had never been one as hot, and never one as exciting. He had changed her in a way she had never wanted. Wendy felt important suddenly, as if the world acknowledge her in some way. She was in love, and so was he. But loving meant growing up.

Peter didn't want to grow up.

**V.**

The magic had never really gone–not in him, at least. He was still Peter, missionary of youth, dreamer of a new world. But after that magic summer, I never saw him again. I dreamed of him and loved him still, but I learned that I wanted to grow up, grow old and _grow_ very much. We talked a lot that summer about dreams and love–and change. But Peter never talked of it for long, he hated changing. I knew how afraid he was, for I too felt the doubt about growing older. It was much easier to pretend to be young forever, like Peter.

But I wanted to change, to be part of a moving harmony of life and death.

And so I left, but never really forgot, Peter Pan and that summer and his magic even as I grew old.

And what a wonderful adventure I had in Neverland.


End file.
